


Surrendering

by selesai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Blood Quill (Harry Potter), Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Government Conspiracy, Guilt, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), POV Percy Weasley, Paranoia, Percy Weasley-centric, Post-Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 20:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18836314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selesai/pseuds/selesai
Summary: Sometimes, no matter how carefully he arranged and assembled his words and actions, many things are still completely left to chances. His life one of them.Percy Weasley was not as blind as he used to be.





	Surrendering

**Author's Note:**

> A snippet from one of my abandoned and unpublished works that can be read as a one-shot.

With a tunnel-vision focus on not hissing in pain, Percy Weasley finished his signature of blood with a flourish of pride.

His first signature, that is.

His boss immediately dragged her hand to point towards to a different area in the parchment and he complied for the second signature and then the finally the third one. He still complied even when he was demanded to retrace each of his signatures another two times, just barely letting out a hiss for the very last.

It was a bit of a surprise that someone like Dolores Umbridge did not make him do at least a dozen instead. But he supposed, as she moved to snatch the document before he could think through the hazy pain, even a monster like her knows that the magical property of the number three beats twelve any time. The woman is mad, but according to his research, she did got an O in her Arithmancy NEWTs.

“It is not that I question your _competence_ , Mr. Weasley,” Madam Umbridge had earlier insisted … _earnestly_ to him. “But regulation is regulation, _and you would know all about that, don’t you?_ ”

What a delightful woman indeed! Percy mindlessly wondered about how Fred and George would have reacted had they known that they are of the same opinion with Madam Umbridge on one thing, even if it was only that he has a proper appreciation for cauldron bottom regulation. He immediately tried to banish the thoughts.

“I understand, Madam,” he had then replied easily, no questions asked and all orders followed. _As always_. It was no wonder that she had seemed shocked when he had politely requested that he be allowed to first review the terms before actually going with it. The terms he was supposed to magically bind himself to, knowing that it would be with his own blood that he signed the oath. And review the terms he did, a simple list of ten bullets that he could not get out of his mind especially if he tried.

But then again, _not_ doing so would surely seem out of character to anyone who knew that he, too, always critically examined each letter of every paperwork he came to touch.

Sometimes, no matter how carefully he arranged and assembled his words and actions, many things are still completely left to chances. His life one of them. It was a really good, fortunate, _lucky_ thing that Madam Umbridge remembered the latter part of him before she could do to him what she does to all the traitors.

Which, given how paranoid she was, would surely have a high rate of false positives.

His arm trembled as he nonverbally vanished the few scarlet drops that had dripped to the surface of his desk, but fortunately his superior was too engrossed in examining the magical contract declaring his loyalty to the Ministry to notice. Would not want to let her see how much of a … displeasure this whole procedure is. Would not want to give her any _more_ reason (however absurd and minor it was) to think he was anything but completely and _utterly_ devoted to the Ministry.

Percy Weasley was not as blind as he used to be.

He noticed it when even the most loyal of workers disappeared, without trace, from week to week and month to month. He did not fail to notice their replacements always reliably appearing right the day after, a well-oiled part in the machine that is the Ministry of Magic. Nobody is irreplaceable.

He knew what happens to _suspected_ traitors – whether they actually participated in treachery or not.

He knew that he could not afford to give out any hint of disloyalty, even false ones. He knew. He has known for a while.

Everyone was constantly consumed by paranoia this high up the political food chain. He was not going to risk himself for _anything_.

_It was not like remaining silent and compliant in the Ministry is anything new for him._

“You’re dismissed,” Madam Umbridge’s voice shook him out of his rare moments of reflection. He simultaneously bowed, nodded, and quietly said “yes ma’am,” in reply and noiselessly let himself out of her office.

It was so quiet even his footsteps’ echoes could be heard. Passing and seeing nobody but not willing to take unnecessary chances, he restrained himself from examining his hand until he was inside his own tinier office, surrounded by what illusion of privacy and privacy a closed door and a fake window could give.

His own signature glared at him from the back of his hand, an angry red against an almost-white, and he regretted all the flourishes he had carefully woven into the design when he was fourteen. A gently brush of his thumb on the cut got him wincing.

He needed some Murtlap essence.

And would not Snape be impressed that he had managed to remember such simple knowledge even after all these years? Of course he would, one of his most respected, _brilliant_ professors. The murderer. So _brilliant_ that he managed to prove that even Albus Dumbledore was not immortal.

He retidied his already tidy desk and found, as he expected, no drop of Murtlap essence anywhere on or near it. He sharpened what quills he could and Vanished the rest. He emptied his mind as he checked on his inkpots before leaving for the lift.

Unsurprisingly, nobody met him on his way to the Atrium. It was a half an hour to midnight, and the only souls in the building in addition to himself and the security wizards are probably only Madam Umbridge and Minister Scrimgeour. Maybe a few nutcases from the Department of Mysteries.

He tried not to think about the Department of Mysteries.

To the emerald flames, he took particular care in shouting for his flat. It would not do to shout for the wrong name by not paying adequate attention, now would it?

His hand burned all throughout the journey. Through the Floo Network, through his flat’s living room, through the doorway of his bedroom. No drop of Murtlap essence there either. The shops selling it would not be open until tomorrow morning.

And, he thought as he laid on the bed waiting for unconsciousness to carry him through the night, he deserved all this pain and more for getting himself into this situation.

 

_Fin._


End file.
